Death is Messy
by TheOneThatGotAway99
Summary: Death isn't peaceful. Death is messy. My name is Hamato Raphael, and I know all this all too well. (Not death fic; rated for blood/injury, language, and my own paranoia; Now continued; forgive me Leo for what I have done to you, as well as Mikey)
1. Death Isn't Peaceful

Death isn't peaceful.

There are no calmly whispered last words before the light slowly fades from their eyes, their bodies going still, last breath escaping in a quiet sigh then breathing no more.

There are no "peaceful passings" in the real world.

The real world is dirty and gritty. Life is messy and fast-paced. Death is even more so.

There is no such thing as an "honorable" death.

There is no honor in death. Only death.

There is no peace in dying. Only pain.

There is no light in darkness. Only black.

Last words are swallowed by the stench of blood, cloying copper and drying rust. Bodies flail and thrash, convulse and twitch. Last breaths stolen in piercing shrieks and bloodcurdling cries, broken screams of the dark and damned and dying.

Death is loud and painful and messy and desperate.

My name is Hamato Raphael, and I know all this all too well.

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_Disclaimer: Nothing owned, nothing gained. Obviously I have nothing._

_Author's Notes: Ummm. . . I'm not sure where this came from. I wrote it at lunch yesterday, and am typing it on my phone now, which is a first for me. As I was writing this, I was considering writing a whole story for it, a death fic or an almost-death fic. Right now it is just me getting into Raphael's head some, following two thought trains "death isn't peaceful, it's messy" and "no such thing as an honorable death". What do you guys think? Should I write more or leave it as is? Oh! First story with no Leo, unless it is continued. :D Thanks all! Love ya guys! God bless!_

_-TheOneThatGotAway99_


	2. Prologue: Life and Death

**~O~**

**Prologue: Life and Death**

**~O~**

* * *

Death isn't peaceful.

.

_"Raph, put Mikey on the couch then come help me with Leo. SENSEI!"_

_"Tell me wha' ya need, Donnie."_

_"As many gauze packs as you can find, at least six suture kits, and all the disinfectant you see. I'm going to hook up an IV. He needs an immediate transfusion of blood!"_

.

There are no calmly whispered last words before the light slowly fades from their eyes, their bodies going still, last breath escaping in a quiet sigh then breathing no more.

.

_"My sons, what has happened?!"_

_"No time to explain now, Master. I need you to help Mikey. His wounds aren't bad, but need tending. Raph and I have to take care of Leo." Donatello shoves a towel, a small bottle of antiseptic, and one of the suture kits Raphael has gathered, then ushers his father out of the lab. _

.

There are no "peaceful passings" in the real world.

.

_"Raph, inventory!"_

_"Eleven gauze, six kits, seven dis-fecs."_

_"Damnit! He's already on his second bag."_

.

The real world is dirty and gritty.

.

_"Leo, bro, come on. Stay with me."_

_"Don, whatda I do now?"_

.

Life is messy and fast-paced.

.

_"Clean off as much of this blood as you can. I'll be over in a minute to start stitching."_

.

Death is even more so.

.

_Raphael rips open a sterile gauze package and dumps half the contents of one bottle onto it in his rush. As the dampened gauze brushes torn flesh, Leonardo lets out a horrible wail of agony._

.

There is no such thing as an "honorable" death.

.

_When the wails die down to moans, they can hear Mikey in the living room spewing a continuous litany of "It's all my fault, it's all my fault, he's hurt because of me, my fault, all my fault"._

.

There is no honor in death. Only death.

.

_"Shit! Mike's goin' into shock."_

_"__**Emotional**__ shock. Sensei will take care of him. Leo is __**bleeding out**__."_

.

There is no peace in dying. Only pain.

.

_Leonardo's screams pick up again as Raphael repeatedly wipes away at the blood still pooling around the wounds where Donatello has yet to suture. He's gone through half the gauze now. Raphael throws down the soiled cloth and snatches up a clean white towel to stanch the flow._

.

There is no light in darkness. Only black.

.

_"No no no no! The tip of the sickle broke off inside the wound. It's imbedded in his plastron. I have to get it out before I can finish closing it. Raph, suture the wound on his leg, then work on his shoulder. If we can take care of the smaller injuries as we go we might be able to—" He doesn't finish his sentence, but the weight of it is as much a burden as their brother's screams._

.

Last words are swallowed by the stench of blood, cloying copper and drying rust.

.

_"It's all my fault, all my fault, my fault, my fault, my fault, it's all my fault."_

_Michelangelo rocks back and forth on his spot on the couch, eyes wide and tears pouring, as Splinter tries to clean and suture the shallow but long wound on his youngest's tender side flesh between shell and plastron._

_"My son, please, calm yourself."_

.

Bodies flail and thrash, convulse and twitch.

.

_Donatello reaches the sterilized pliers into the wound for the third time, but just as he is about to grasp the sharpened steel between the two points, Leonardo's torso jerks away with a mewling cry._

_"Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Raph! Hold him down so I can get it out! Forget the shoulder! This is more urgent!"_

.

Last breaths stolen in piercing shrieks and bloodcurdling cries, broken screams of the dark and damned and dying.

.

_Raphael does his best to hold his injured brother still as he bucks and thrashes and screams under their ministrations. Donatello succeeds in retrieving the metal and signals Raph to return to fixing Leonardo's shoulder. But they both freeze when Leonardo's scream morphs into a wet gurgle._

.

Death is loud.

.

_"It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault."_

.

And painful.

.

_"No! I checked his airway! It was clear! No internal bleeding!"_

.

And messy.

.

_"My son, Michelangelo, please, tell me what happened!"_

.

And desperate.

.

_"Raph! Get the ventilator! We have to intubate him!"_

.

My name is Hamato Raphael.

.

_"It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault."_

.

And I know all this

.

_"Leo! Leo, stay with me! Damnit! No! We're losing him!"_

.

All too well.

.

_"LEO!"_

.

* * *

(To be continued. . .)

* * *

_Author's Notes: You okay? You good? Need to pause there for a moment and collect yourself?_

_Well, I continued it. More than tripled it. Told you Leo would show up if I did. I blame Gallifrey Girl 9 and NokaKomi for this. Galli requested I continue and when I said it would be dark and bloody, she basically said the darker the better. Nino just said it was missing a reason for why Raph was thinking those things. This has now become a prologue to what will be a longer story. But what do you guys think? Should the next chapter be continuing with this chapter, or going back to the beginning of how it happened? I have ideas for either one, so it is up to you all. Love ya! Take care! God bless!_

_-TheOneThatGotAway99_


	3. Closer To The Middle

**.**

**Closer To The Middle**

* * *

_Author's Notes: I was coerced into continuing from the previous chapter under the threat that I would give a number of my readers a heart attack if I didn't. Well, Nino, here you go. Though, of course, being me, the fact that I was coerced into it, means I am going to make you all work for it. I'm sure you will recognize bits of this. ;D Enjoy._

* * *

Donatello bursts through the lair door and heads straight for the lab, a bleeding and barely conscious Leonardo cradled in his arms. "Raph, put Mikey on the couch then come help me with Leo. SENSEI!"

Raphael does as instructed and gently sets Michelangelo, whom Raphael had just been carrying in a fireman's carry, on to the faded blue sofa, before turning to his purple clad brother who was already halfway to the lab. "Tell me wha' ya need, Donnie."

Donatello lays Leonardo on a cot in the middle of the lab and quickly preforms a recheck on all of Leonardo's injuries before answering. "As many gauze packs as you can find, at least six suture kits, and all the disinfectant you see. I'm going to hook up an IV. He needs an _immediate_ transfusion of blood!" Donatello matches words to actions as he grabs a handful of bags filled with blood from the lab fridge, connecting one to a sterile tube and needle. He expertly slips the thin gauged needle into the vein in Leonardo's right wrist.

Just as he is finished hanging the blood bag on the IV pole fashioned from a salvaged coatrack, Splinter rushes through the door of the makeshift infirmary. He takes one sweeping glance of the scene before him, eyes locking on his blood coated eldest. "My sons, what has happened?!" he immediately demands, his concern palpable in the air.

"No time to explain now, Master. I need you to help Mikey. His wounds aren't bad, but need tending. Raph and I have to take care of Leo." Donatello shoves a towel, a small bottle of antiseptic, and one of the suture kits Raphael has gathered, then ushers his father out of the lab.

"Raph, inventory!" Donatello calls as he checks Leonardo's pulse and blood pressure again.

"Eleven gauze, six kits, seven dis-fecs," Raphael counts off, his plunders gathered on a cleared table beside the cot Leonardo lays on.

"Damnit! He's already on his second bag." Donatello tosses the empty blood bag and attaches a full one to the IV. Leonardo moans quietly, his head rolls to the side, eyes threatening to drift shut. "Leo, bro, come on. Stay with me."

"Don, whatda I do now?" Raphael asks, unsure of what to do, trying to force his panic shaking hands to still.

"Clean off as much of this blood as you can," Donatello orders, grabbing one of the suture kits and pulling it open. "I'll be over in a minute to start stitching."

Raphael rips open a sterile gauze package and dumps half the contents of one bottle onto it in his rush. As the dampened gauze brushes torn flesh, Leonardo lets out a horrible wail of agony.

They both flinch as the noise assaults them, but quickly get back to their tasks with renewed fervor.

When the wails die back down to moans, they can hear Michelangelo in the living room spewing a continuous litany of "It's all my fault, it's all my fault, he's hurt because of me, my fault, all my fault".

"Shit! Mike's goin' into shock," Raphael swears, recognizing the symptoms upon hearing Michelangelo's traumatized mantra. He looks up from cleaning the wound with his fourth roll of gauze and glances at the door to the lair beyond, wishing he could be out there to help Michelangelo.

Donatello shakes his head and replies vehemently, "_Emotional_ shock. Sensei will take care of him. Leo is _bleedingout_." He doesn't look up, focusing solely on stitching Leonardo's wounds.

There's nothing either of them can do to help Michelangelo right now other than what they are doing at this moment, saving Leonardo's life. Michelangelo will be fine so long as Leonardo is alive. He has to be.

Leonardo's screams pick up again as Raphael repeatedly wipes away at the blood still pooling around the wounds where Donatello has yet to suture. He's gone through half the gauze now. Raphael throws down the soiled cloth and snatches up a clean white towel to stanch the flow.

"No no no no!" Donatello groans as he sees the source of the continued blood flow, and notices something he hadn't before. "The tip of the sickle broke off inside the wound. It's imbedded in his plastron. I have to get it out before I can finish closing it. Raph, suture the wound on his leg, then work on his shoulder. If we can take care of the smaller injuries as we go we might be able to—" He doesn't finish his sentence, but the weight of it is as much a burden as their brother's screams.

Again, Raphael obeys the order without question, moving to clean and stitch the shallow wound on Leonardo's left leg.

The first time Donatello places the sterilized pliers into his brother's wound, his hand is shaking too much to grasp it firm enough. The second time, Leonardo jostles before he even gets close to the sickle tip.

Donatello reaches the pliers into the wound for the third time, but just as he is about to grasp the sharpened steel between the two points, Leonardo's torso jerks away with a mewling cry.

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Raph! Hold him down so I can get it out! Forget the shoulder! This is more urgent!"

Raphael does his best to hold his injured brother still as he bucks and thrashes and screams under their ministrations. Donatello succeeds in retrieving the metal and signals Raphael to return to fixing Leonardo's shoulder. But they both freeze when Leonardo's scream morphs into a wet gurgle.

"No! I checked his airway! It was clear! No internal bleeding!" Donatello's blood soaked hands hover over his wheezing brother, suddenly uncertain of what to do. "It-it must have been that – a chemical or something – in that dart they hit him with. He's reacting badly to it." As Leonardo's breathing hitches, Donatello's frantic fingers find their way on either side of Leonardo's head, cradling gently. "Raph! Get the ventilator! We have to intubate him!"

Raphael dashes towards the requested machine and hauls it over to the table. "What do we do, Don?" He implores, voice pleading, but confident that his genius brother will know what to do.

"Come on, Leo, come on," Donatello coaxes as he eases the tracheal tube down Leonardo's throat. "We're going to have to flush his system free of the drug. Get out three bags of saline solution from the cooler. Set them on the table, then finish stitching the chest wound. The sooner we get the bleeding stopped, the better." As Raphael again does so without question, Donatello attaches the breathing tube to the ventilator, and slips another IV into Leonardo's other arm. Donatello mentally dismisses the possibility of internal bleeding. He had checked and double checked; he _knew_ there was no internal bleeding. He'd stake all their lives on it.

Just as that thought crosses his mind, Leonardo's eyes roll up into his head and his body begins to convulse.

"No no no!" Donatello rushes to strap down Leonardo's arms to keep him from dislodging the IVs. "Leo! Leo, stay with me!" He begs his pain stricken brother. "_Raph!_ The saline!"

Raphael runs up with three bags of clear liquid marked 'saline'. He deposits two of them, and tosses the third to Donatello, who quickly hooks it to the empty IV tube and passes it back to Raphael. "Squeeze as hard as you can without breaking it. I have to close this wound before he bleeds to death." With both the continued blood transfusion and the now added saline, death by blood loss was less likely but still possible, and the likelihood of infection was great. He climbs onto the cot and straddles Leonardo in an attempt to keep him still while he attacks the wound on the leader's chest with a suture needle. "Damnit!" A violent shudder dislodges the needle again, but Donatello's focus is absolute. He finishes stitching the largest and last of Leonardo's injuries, just as Raphael is attaching the third saline bag to the second IV.

Leonardo is gasping and gurgling around the tube in his throat for breath as his body continues to convulse. Donatello holds Leonardo down as best he can, fighting against his brother's jerking muscles, wishing there was something more he can do, but knowing there is nothing to be done until the seizure is over.

With a final gasp and twitch, Leonardo abruptly, ominously, and entirely stills. A moment passes in utter silence save for the ebb and flow of the ventilator, Raphael and Donatello both holding their breaths, both too relieved and too concerned that the seizure has passed.

Donatello reaches a tentative hand to check his brother's pulse. "No!" he yells, quickly checking Leonardo's pulse again, once more feeling nothing, before beginning CPR around his plastron and freshly stitched injuries. "We're losing him!"

"LEO!" Raphael shouts in desperation, dropping the half empty IV bag to run to the head of the cot. The ventilator provides rescue breathing as Donatello expertly pounds on the injured leader's chest in an attempt to restart his slowing heart, Raphael finds himself with nothing to do, no way to help, but a desperate need to touch his far too pale brother wells up inside him and he can't find the will to even try to resist.

He places his hands on either side of Leonardo's head, leaning over his still face. Raphael's eyes burn as he fights back the emotions trying to overwhelm him. He leans his head against Leonardo's uninjured shoulder, hiding from the sight of the tube jammed down his big brother's throat. He wants to yell; he wants to shout. He wants to feel anger and go out and punch and kick and _hurt_ something. But all he can feel is fear. A cold, sickening dread slowly extinguishing all the flames of his anger. As Donatello continues his ministrations without success, Raphael's voice comes out barely over a whisper as he pleads with his only older brother. "Leo. Please. You can't leave like this. Not like this. There's no honor in this. You live yer whole life practicin' bushido. There's no honor in abandonin' yer family. Come on, Fearless. Open yer eyes. Don't leave us. Don't leave us. Open yer eyes. . ."

The sound of a muffled gasp around a breathing tube makes Raphael lift his head, only to see two dark brown eyes, almost onyx in color, lock gazes with his own golden amber. "Leo."

"I have a pulse," Donatello announces in a huff of relief that is more breath than voice, but the words are as unmistakable as the life shining in Leonardo's dark eyes. Though somewhat clouded with pain and whatever drug that is still leaving his system, the emotions that show in those dark orbs flitting back and forth between Raphael's are clear. Love, reassurance, determination. Leonardo had heard Raphael's pleas, and is now determined to live. No matter what.

* * *

_To Be Continued. . ._

* * *

_Author's Notes: There, see? No cliffhanger! Yay! Told you I would make you work for it though, seeing as this is just a filled out version of the previous chapter. But the previous cliffhanger has been resolved now. Special bonus: It is long, 1,800 plus words, excluding this enormously long author's note, which I apologize for. Seems like a perfect ending, right? (To a point, anyway. I can't seem to make it any better though, so I guess you will just have to deal.) Well, I didn't name this chapter 'Closer To The Middle' for nothing, people. I also got that chapter name idea, as well as the ones to come, from the wonderful Kay the Cricketed's (uncompleted and untouched for nearly six years) story 'Clarity, Her Tomb'. And whom I truly hope won't mind that slight intrusion. See as there has been no activity on that account for quite some time, I feel safe in the assumption that Kay will not even notice. Next chapter will be 'Closer To The Beginning', and then I will tie it all up with a 'Closer To The End' after that. Possibly an epilogue if the feeling arises. _

_Pardon me, but I'm going to talk aimlessly for a moment. I am currently sitting on the floor with my laptop, hiding in the bathroom because I am supposed to be cleaning my room right now, but have instead decided to finish writing this chapter. Yes, I am nineteen years old and should be mature enough to just clean my room, even without being told, but I have a Michelangelo bedroom. If you saw it, you would be afraid to clean it too. O.O Not sure how that happened. I am usually a tidy person, but since starting college last fall, the task of keeping my bedroom manageable seems to have fallen to the bottom of my list. . . Oh well. It must be done. Thank you for enduring my insufferable and unbearably useless tirade. If you truly read to this point than you are a fine person indeed and how I came to have such a reader as you, I may never know. Thank you for your time and I hope you will drop me a line, I do so love to talk. :) Hope you enjoyed! Take care! God bless!_

_-TheOneThatGotAway99 _


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